DANGEROUS DECEPTION

by Kylie Brant

  He cursed, long and fluently, then set his mind to doing what he did best; figuring the angles, planning strategy. Hiring another investigator would guarantee the case was still being looked into, but it wouldn't gain him access to the progress she was making. Her connection to Rob Landry complicated this case all too hell.

  And it also represented the closest link he'd find to the dead man himself. With a feeling of resignation mingled with anticipation, he reached for his cell phone.

  James's intercom buzzed as he was sorting through the piles of mail Celia had efficiently bundled on his desk. "Mr. Jones to see you, sir."

  His mouth quirked. There was very little his secretary didn't handle with equanimity, but it was obvious from the slight inflection in her voice that she still didn't know what to make of Ana's new husband. Big, tough and battle-scarred, the man's past was shrouded in mystery.

  What was known was that he'd been running a charter boat business in the tropics when Analiese had hired him for a secret caper that still had the power to make James's blood run cold. He'd managed to keep Ana safe while they dodged a corrupt country's military, and for that, James was willing to looking beyond the man's shadowy past and accept him as his brother-in-law.

  It was an undeniable bonus that the man possessed skills gained in that unspoken past that came in handy at Tremaine Technologies, and that his wife had convinced him to sell his boat and utilize them.

  "Send him in." Going to work on the pile of mail laid neatly on his desk, he reached for an envelope opener as his office door opened.

  Jones entered the room, eyed the blade in his hand. "Going armed now?"

  James held it up. "After making Ana work all night, I thought I might need a weapon when I saw you again."

  Grunting, the other man dropped into a chair before his desk. "No one makes my wife do anything she doesn't want to, so I figure she couldn't tear herself away from the project. But from now on, I told her she was to call me for a ride. I don't like her on the roads after she's been up all night. She nearly got sideswiped by a truck on her way home this afternoon."

  Everything inside James abruptly froze. "Did she get a look at the driver?"

  His brother-in-law rubbed his jaw. "Hell, I doubt it. She probably wasn't at her best, running on no sleep. She just didn't see the guy coming until he was right on top of her. She was pretty shaken up when she called. Matter of fact, I was going to head home as soon as I talked to you."

  It probably had nothing to do with the threats. James told himself that, and almost believed it. "Did she think it might be deliberate?"

  Jones stared at him, his face going grim. "Any reason to believe it might have been?"

  James set the envelope in his hand down on his desk. "Probably not, but I want everyone around here to be extra careful. There have been … threats. Nothing specific," he added, not quite honestly, when he saw the man's expression. "They're aimed at me, but I don't want to take any chances. Can you make sure she travels to and from work with you for a while?"

  "Yeah, but she's gonna kick unless I tell her the truth."

  Considering that, James nodded. "With everything we've got going on right now, we make a bigger target than usual. You can tell her there have been some anonymous messages. We're just being careful."

  Jones's scrutiny was implacable. "The threats are directed at you?"

  "It's not the first time." The words were no more than the truth. The only difference this time was the reference to his parents. And he definitely wasn't ready to make that known to his family. "Because Ana works here, she should be extra cautious. You, too."

  "I'll tighten the security on the grounds," Jones said. "And you better start taking precautions, too. Use different cars each day. Take different routes."

  "I know the drill." He'd walked this path before, in times where the threats were more certain, the intent more deadly. Compared to those situations, these messages were almost too nebulous to take seriously.

  Except for the note about his parents. And now that it seemed as though there just might be something to the assertion in that note, perhaps he was going to have to treat all the messages with a bit more credulity.

  "Wouldn't hurt to take the limo around for a while," Jones suggested laconically. "With the armored doors and reinforced glass, it's a bit safer. I'll make sure it's inspected each day."

  James grimaced, ripped open another envelope. With only a glance at its contents, he placed it in a pile for Celia to deal with. One of the things he hadn't yet learned to delegate was letting someone else have first look at the mail. It seemed easier for him to do it, and then to pass the pieces on to whichever employee necessary.

  Belatedly he realized Jones was waiting for a reply. "Let's wait a while longer on that." He preferred driving himself, and would continue to do so for as long as possible. "All our cars are protected by Safe-T, which reduces some of the risks." The Safe-T system, their own creation, sounded an alarm if anyone touched the vehicle.

  "Okay." His brother-in-law stood and shot him a rare grin. "But once Ana finds out what's going on, you might have to change your mind about that. And a lot of other things." He sounded as though the prospect of his wife taking on her oldest brother gave him a great deal of pleasure. James didn't doubt his assertion. Though she was the youngest by several years, there wasn't a one of the Tremaine males who didn't tread warily to stay off Analiese's radar. She was as fiercely protective of them as they had always been of her. He refused to consider her frequent assertion that it was no more than they deserved.

  He sliced into another piece of mail, slipped the letter out and perused it. "You could do me a favor and try and keep your wife in check." The suggestion sounded too much like a plea, even to his own ears. "Try to deflect her attention away from this news if you can." The letter was placed in a pile to be routed to Marcus later.

  "Sorry, pal." Jones sounded anything but. "But I'd sooner get between a mama bear and her cub. No matter how I play it, when she hears about these threats, you're going to have to handle her." He walked through the door. "'Fraid you're on your own when it comes to dealing with the fallout."

  He was entirely too old to experience this feeling of dismay at the possibility, James thought, sorting rapidly through the rest of the mail. But the response he was about to make went unuttered as his hand froze in the act of reaching for the next piece in the pile.

  A plain white envelope labeled with his name, with no return address.

  She should have told him to go to hell, Tori fumed, as she followed the guard silently up to James Tremaine's offices. The urge to do just that when he'd called had been overpowering. But he had a habit of overriding everything he didn't want to hear. It would be so much more satisfying to do it in person, she consoled herself. To listen to his "proposition" and then tell him, in succinct terms, just where he could stick it.

  The elegance of the building's interior was lost on her this time. She was too busy thinking of all the ways she'd like to see Tremaine suffer. Like staking him out on a slug-infested anthill. Or, likely more painful for him, to take a well-honed knife to his closet of European suits. Preferably while he was wearing one of them.

  "Ms. Corbett, sir."

  Ignoring the guard, Tori walked into James's office carrying the sheaf of papers she'd brought with her. As she swung the door closed behind her, she fixed the man behind the desk with a disparaging glare.

  "Tori. Thank you for coming. I wasn't certain that you would."

  If the warm smile and civil tone were meant to soften her, they failed miserably. "Really?" Her voice was mocking. "And here I was under the impression that you're quite used to getting exactly what you want, when you want it."

  "You'd be surprised. Where you're concerned, I'm not certain of much. Come and look at this."

  Her gaze dropped to his desk top and her stomach abruptly hollowed out. Without hesitation she rounded his desk, peered at the note with its typed message:

  "Withdraw your
bid or be the next in your family to die."

  For the moment, her irritation with him was forgotten. "This came today?" At his nod, she said, "What bid do you think it refers to? The new one coming up with the Pentagon?"

  "It has to be. It's the only one on the horizon that matters." He stared at the note for a moment. "I'm beginning to believe that was the purpose of these messages all along. To serve as a distraction from the business at hand."

  "Except that it's looking as if the sender might have been right, and maybe your parents' accident was deliberate. Does that mean he made a lucky guess, or did he have actual knowledge of what happened twenty years ago?"

  "That's exactly what we're going to find out." She was transfixed by the transformation of his expression. The cool, savvy businessmen wore a feral mask that was as chilling as it was startling. It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did, she straightened and took a step back. "We? Uh-uh, buddy, you fired me, remember? My only stake in this mess now is clearing my dad's name."

  He swung the chair to face her, his hands clasped calmly across his chest. "You're here," he pointed out. "Perhaps only from an urge to take a swing at me, but you did come. That tells me you're at least willing to listen to what I have to say."

  The sting of his words wasn't lessened by the fact that they were true. However satisfying it would have been to hang up on him earlier, his request had tugged at her curiosity. Because she couldn't refute his words, she stalked to a chair, sat and slid to a more comfortable position. "It's your party, ace."

  "It occurred to me that our purposes aren't completely at odds." He'd slipped into CEO mode, all shrewd logic and reason. "There's no reason we can't continue to work together, keeping certain details in mind."

  "It occurred to you that you couldn't stand not knowing what I was up to," she disputed. "You could afford to hire an army of P.I.s, if you weren't particularly concerned about discretion, any number of whom are capable of conducting this investigation. But they couldn't run the assignment and keep track of what I might be discovering."

  There was the slightest smile on his face. She decided it didn't soften his expression at all. Especially not while his eyes remained speculative. "Yes. I think perhaps I was too hasty when I suggested we terminate our partnership."

  "And now, knowing that you think the worst of my father, and of me, I'm supposed to forgive and forget and join up with you again, just because you're afraid I might discover something your new guy doesn't?" She pretended to consider the thought for a moment before suggesting, "Bite me."

  "The invitation doesn't lack appeal. But our arrangement could be mutually advantageous. If it is discovered that my parents' deaths was murder, it will become a police matter. From there, it's inevitable that publicity will ensue. I can make sure your father's name is kept out of the resulting media frenzy." His regard was direct, the aim of his words on target. "I can tell you from experience that reputations are fragile things. And the taint of scandal is difficult to remove, especially for a man already dead."

  The insinuation was impossible to miss. She let out a bitter laugh. "You son of a bitch. Are you threatening me? You'll put your own spin on things, implicating my father, if I don't agree to help you now? You're unbelievable."

  "I didn't exactly say that."

  "You implied it." She couldn't remember when she'd hated a man more. And it was strangely ironic that right now she was burning with far more righteous indignation than she had when she'd walked in on her ex playing mattress tag with the empty-headed beauty queen. There was just something about James Tremaine that inspired the most violent reactions.

  "What do our reasons matter, really, as long as we both get what we want? You get the answers you're looking for, and I remain apprised of all your discoveries."

  His voice was reasonable. Too reasonable. "To be sure I don't hide something, you mean." She tried to match his cool by shoving emotion aside and considering his offer. "I want your offer in writing." "You'll have it."

  Tori wasn't thrilled with the idea. She'd been free of him, for a few hours at least. But she hadn't been free of doubts—or of a niggling fear that she didn't even want to admit to. She was still convinced that Sanderson had made a mistake. But she wasn't willing to chance her father's reputation being smeared forever.

  "All right." Trepidation knotted in her gut.

  "Did you bring the information on insurance companies that I asked for?"

  Without a word she got up, dropped the papers she'd brought on his desk. He picked them up, flipped through them quickly. "We've got work to do. Follow me."

  He rose from his desk and strode to a door on the opposite side of the room. She remembered him using it one other time, the first time she'd come here, trying to land this assignment. With every fiber of her being, she wished she'd never made the decision to do so.

  Trailing after him, she stopped short in the doorway, gaped. What she'd assumed was a file storeroom of some sort was, in fact, a smaller office space. It too was lined with computers and peripheral devices whose functions she could only guess at.

  "Isn't this a little redundant?"

  He'd already placed the papers she'd given him next to a computer and sat down in front of it. "The existence of this space is, of course, covered under the confidentiality clause you signed. Are we agreed?"

  "Of course," she said stiffly. But her mind was racing. She knew just enough about technology to have a glimmer of what he was planning, without being completely sure it was even possible.

  "This looks like a hacker's paradise. Please tell me that you're not planning on breaking into databases."

  "It's not strictly 'breaking in' if they leave a way to infiltrate it." His smile was wicked and, if she wasn't mistaken, laced with anticipation.

  He was gazing at the computer screen, fingers already dancing over the keyboard.

  "But is it legal?" There was a tickle on the back of her nape, and she looked around uneasily.

  "'Legal' is relative."

  "Yeah, but jail isn't. What is it exactly you're looking for, anyway?"

  This time he did stop, and looked up at her. "I'm going to shift my focus a bit. What if the accident really was murder? What would the motive be?"

  On surer ground now, she got up to pace. "Motives for murder are pretty concrete. Greed—for power or money—jealousy. There are variations on those themes, of course, but that's pretty much what it boils down to."

  "So we'll tackle those motives one at a time. Greed for power would point to one of my father's competitors. And we'll get to them later." There was a note that had entered his voice that sent a shiver skating down her arms. "But right now we're checking out money."

  She stopped midstride, jerked to look at him. "You're checking to see who benefited from your parents' deaths twenty years ago?"

  "It's a long shot," he concurred, switching his attention back to the screen. "But anyone can buy an insurance policy on anybody, and since the settlements aren't public information, the only way to be sure is to look for myself."

  "What's the sentence for hacking these days?" she asked. In spite of herself, she went behind him and looked over his shoulder. With a shock she realized he was already in to the files of the first insurance company on the list. She checked her watch. It had taken him all of about three minutes. "Lucky for the world that you decided to turn your skills to good instead of evil."

  "Companies like these don't even make it challenging." He sounded more than a little disappointed. "I'm going to print out the files and you can start checking through them for the names and dates we're looking for." The printer began to whir as it began the task.

  "Aren't there ways for them to tell someone has been in their files? What if they trace this back to you?"

  "This computer is totally secure. And all of my equipment is protected by a dandy little firewall I designed myself. Any attempt to probe this computer and there'll be a nasty little virus sent back along the path the hack
ers use, trashing a lot of expensive equipment at the other end."

  Reaching for the first printed sheet, Tori took the highlighter James handed her and set to work. "Well, at least you trust me this much."

  "I'll double-check it later."

  She gave a bitter little smile. His focus on the screen before him was absolute, his tone offhand. But she knew exactly what he meant. They may be partners again, but nothing had really changed at all. He still didn't trust her.

  And she certainly didn't trust him.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Tori found it difficult to gauge the passage of time, holed up in the windowless room. She rubbed her eyes, which seemed to be on fire after hours of perusing the printouts. She slid a gaze at James, seated next to her. He'd finished his sneak computer attacks on the list of insurance companies an hour earlier. Some had merged, resulting in name changes, which had required some research to discover. Two had gone out of business altogether. But he'd successfully infiltrated the rest, with an ease that bordered on the criminal. She tried not to think about the jail sentence that would be leveled at an accomplice to the crime. Not to mention the threat to her license if his acts were ever discovered. Integrity, above all else.

  Her dad's voice sounded in her head, as clear as if he were standing next to her. And in that moment she knew she'd risk anything, everything, to prove to Tremaine that he hadn't sold him out all those years ago. She wasn't going to let the man beside her destroy her father's memory.

  With renewed purpose she returned to the printouts. She'd run through them first and highlighted all the settlement dates that would be in the right time period. Now she was looking for names, but despite her brief respite, the words still insisted on blurring on the pages. She'd actually turned a page and started on the next before belated comprehension registered. Flipping back a sheet, she ran her finger down the list until she came to the one she was seeking.